The Wind Ever Beckons
by BeckoningWinds
Summary: The time comes when te sorrowful heart of Elladan must choose between leaving as he has doneall his life, or stay amongst his kind to be with the one he loves so deeply.


* Many years had passed, and but a few whispers of the dark haired, grey eyed twins had ever reached the ears of Imladris. Much sorrow had befallen the two after their mother's passing to the west, soon leaving the fair lands upon whimsical journeys to defeat all orcs who dare cross their path. Revenge was ever sweet, and yet even that lost its taste after the years. Oh and how the years did pass, like the ever silent breeze. Sweeping across the lands, aging all who lay in its path, leaving the young old and tired. Only to bring forth a new age of youth. Even the elves found themselves weary of middle earths toils, long knowing the day would come when their race would fade into the West.   
Yet on rode the fair son of Lord Elrond himself, perched high and proud upon the flaxen stallion Telepaear, "Golden Wind". A steed who roamed the land with his master, ever steady and ever loyal. What business had the forgotten son in such lands that he had long left? Surely many would fall to such ponderings, only to find his stay short, and merely to keep watch of his fair sister, the Lady Arwen.Many moons had come and fallen in the time his hazel orbs had last gazed upon his sister, and even then she was but a mere child.   
A soft chuckle threatened to break the silence that had surrounded these woods, a celestial reverence of both elf and wildlife of the beauty from which they so indulged in. The simple thoughts of past times brought on a severe case of nostalgia, and as soon as they had come, they were brushed back to the darkened state they had once been. Slender digits rest upon the icy surface of the strong elvish blade which had seen much sorrow in its days. The blade seemed to reflect a dull mourning, and had been bathed in the blood of foes too much for Elladan's liking. The amber steed presses on, ever unflatering in pace. Stuck between a placid lope and heartful gallop. He knew not which to seddle upon, for the ever changing mood of his master proved most confusing.   
In this state of contemplation a hopeful snort was emitted from the golden beast, and mane of long flaxen locks would be tossed in the wind as his noble head shook from side to side. Extending to pluck the emerald leaves from their branches, and munching upon the feast contently. Lips curved at this, for who could not admire the steed's good nature? Soon they would arrive in Lothlorien, and if all went accordingly, their presence would go unknown to most, excluding the Lady of the Wood Galadriel and the noble Lord Celeborn. Lips then part in a radiant tone, words so soft even one of the elvish race would have trouble hearing them. Though ears of the steed perk, listening avidly to the comment* An lema, aye Telepaear? Indeed it had been just that, and a good rest was certainly desired.  
At the far corner of this golden realm lay a path rarely traveled and known only to few who hunt in the spring. Now under the cover of winter, it was a good choice to tread upon for those who did not wish to make a spectacle of their arrival. Elladan had taken the freedom in indulging himself by dismounting from his weary steed to explore the snow covered grounds. Much wildlife ventured out amongst the towering oaks, who stood as figures of bare branch and deep slumber. Though they dance in the wind, creaking in pleasure as they bent to a melody heard only to themselves. Most would see only sorrow in this barren state, yet he gazed upon it as untold beauty.. For without leaf, they show their true figure. Somewhere near, Telepaear had buried his muzzle into the babbling surface if a nearby brook, whos edge lay frozen. The ground was much too cold for a comfortable seat to be found, therefore the elf took retreat in the frosty boughs of a Mallorn sapling, whose limbs felt no strain from his weight.   
The slate grey puffs of clouds expanded across the winter sky like a soft blanket of ash, fanning out for all the celestial creatures who wished to rest upon it. Here and there one may notice the pale pink complexion that dappled the overhead clouds. And from these pours a steady shower of snow, so ivory and pure that it covers the earth, undisturbed and most lovely in the moonlight. The silver beams bathed the forest floor in ethereal iridescent facets, bringing forth a heavenly mist that lingered and pranced amongst the tree trunks, spiraling up in playful dances. What beauty one could fine by merely observing, praising nature with admiring glances, and content smiles. Even surrounded by a world that had begun to crumble, this haven shone like a lost star in the great sea of night.   
Night had long been creeping over his substratum, and not once had he glanced away from the heavens above. The previous months had been filled with bloodshed and war, and it was strange feeling to be in such a peaceful abode. For the first time in what seemed ages, relaxation had seddled into the depths of his mind. Such thoughts of old, past times when Celebrian had been the loving balance between the family. Yet where thoughts of his mother had come, there were always the bitter memories of her torture, and the painful wounds that had never healed. Somewhere in the middle of his distant thoughts, the sudden snap of a twig brought a shocking blow of reality. The bare branches offered no cover in the winter, and little escape would be provided if indeed a foe did wander across. On the other hand, the high position was an advantage, for it provided a higher glance of the surrounding woods.   
Ever silently, slender digits steady the bow, aimed steadily through the branches, held in a fully drawn position. Fingers grip the notched arrow, able to endure the position for long periods of time in waiting, for much training and experience lay in the elf's aim. Cursed would be any creature who dare wander by with ill intention, hatred lay in the gaze of this elf who had been brought away from a well needed rest. What had been expected was not what had come to be. Instead of the foul figure of an orc, a fair maiden walked almost silently along the unmarked path. Searching for the winter berries that weighed down the small bushes who had survived the mornings frost. He then seddled back into his seat, watching her with an avid gaze. She was of the Lorien race, tall and fair, tresses the soft color of the radiant sun, golden and pure. 


End file.
